The Trust that Rest Embodies… The Truth that Mystery Speaks…

Poet’s frozen so stiff he 
Can’t even shiver.
He’d blink, but his life’s like 
The Yangtze river.

Wake, and stare, 
And stand in awe. 
Don’t be afraid to sleep.
Whatever corners 
You 
Drift right by
Give to God; 
Who can keep.

 

The Humbled Humbly Hope…

I watched an old man bending down
He rose with quite a burden on his back.
Yet, not his own, His God-given shoulders,
Were the strength his brothers lacked.

She stooped to sweep the crystal glass
Glittering -shattered- across her
“Spotless” kitchen floor.
A sorry, clumsy sister’s… accident.
Time and time-again… again…
Forgiven… once more.

Bowed before the Master,
Who is a Saviour-King.
A once-would-be disaster,
To every Noble thing,

Now strongest, when laid low before,
Him who raises up.
We’re called to walk by the power of
His Spirit, from one cup.

Kneeling, He sees eye-to-eye,
And felt this dusty earth,
Christ knows the taste of the silent groan,
“Redemption, come! New birth!”

At His command we’re called to, “Duck!”
And trusting Him, obey.
Now covered in a cloud of wisdom,
We hear evil snatch his prey.

Knees too weak to even kneel,
Eyes too red to look.
Staggering, collapsing,
As if the whole world shook,

Our faces to the ground,
Our hearts SO low,
We’d almost forgotten
What it is to know.

The embrace of Love

-Fulfilling hope.

But with a glimmer -a spark!
We remember:
The rope!

Woven of a great God’s love,
Aye, and of a great God’s strengths,
Yes, by a great God’s wisdom,
Spanning providential lengths.

Lost Ethic…

Tired eyes see differently
-Deeper
Weary hearts holding more?

Exhausted legs resting easily.
-Sleeper
Oceans calling for shores.

And this
Is the long-lost ethic
Rest
Is the abandoned art.
In six days,
You shall do
All your work,
The seventh:

Set apart.

Transcendent Yield…

All the words -or lack, there- of
the dirt below the clouds

Above
This

The scale -perspective, shrouds
-The way we perceive sight
God made dirt, sometimes to hurt,
Dark clouds to hide the light.

God made dirt, sometimes to sow,
And clouds to sometimes rain.
God made grief, for hope to grow,
And for love, this thing called pain.

Present. Still. Surrendered. Will…

To want to and to want, 

and to …give it all away?

Better than a banker’s vault

-better than today,

Hope 

Engraved on hearts of flesh,

a life that can’t… 

help. but. say.

Though He slay me…

I will-

I will trust Him, 

anyway.

“Trust Him, for what? 

We’ll be dead and gone,”

I said,

“-Dirt don’t sing no 

worship song.”

But seeds, they die,

and crops they grow.

Much fruit comes from

those. who. know…

That life’s not all ’bout living

and death’s not all about ends.

“In Him was life,”

I said,

“-In Him was Life…

And this Life was 

the 

Light. of. men.”

hold me here…

But the end from the
beginning,
sounds a little
too long.
Could you just tell me
when we’ll be winning?
-or sing me a lullaby’s song?

Cuz I “can’t” take
much more of this.
I may just
up and die
If this
uncertainty
inside of me,
increases,
by and by-
good bye.

Then all I have become,
may burst,
and blow away…
I’m telling you,
I need this, God… why
hold me here… I pray…

God, You know
What I need.
Y’know what
You’re do-ing.
God, help me
to humbly
concede

That I’m not in charge here,
You deserve my trust,
I should sacrifice
everything I am
/have.
God, please
Transform me,
re-new my mind,
Your good
and pleasing
-perfect will, to find
/prove.

In Failing…

Leaving him,
Be,
This lonely street,
Has been his company.
He’s standing there,
With an empty stare

-with all he might ever be

Staring right there back at him
-What’s he supposed to do?
The wind, it whispers
Worthlessness.
How does he know it’s not true?

Short hair the hue of twilight’s air,
Two shoulders shiver, wet.
His hat clenched in a motionless hand,
A fist, tight with regret.

Two feet, one on each paving stone,
-A couple in between,
His weary mind remembering,
Things he had once…

Dreamed
Clouds lined with threads of
Silver,
Leaves
        -forests-
Splashed
        -dripping-
Red and gold.
A seagull soaring, ocean-bound,
While ebbing surf back-rolled.

Hair, like a feathery waterfall,
Eyes, bright as a thousand stars,
Hope
Leaning on The Everlasting Love,
Rapt in eachother’s arms.

A baby’s face,
Short, tender cries;
Smooth, soft,
Sweet skin;
Tiny, brown eyes.

All this now fading
-Embers nigh-dead,
Through a smoke-filled memory.
What can be no longer
Fickly framed
In failing
       -Reverie.

A poem?

Fight!

Echoing.
In
My head:
“Today.”
This
Is what my mind
Had to
Say

To my soul,
through my hearts,
Puppets sing?
-Playing parts.

And *this* is all that’s left of wills, surrendered?
This is all
-The reason left intact?
We are the running sum of all that’s tendered,
Obedience.
A choice.
That we,
The mercy-breathing “children,”
Do not lack.

And as it spoke,
This voice I heard,
While, as it spoke,
Another -third-

Broke!
The unheard silence,
And came, a shattering phrase,
“To give up, to -yes- ‘surrender’
While retaining choice, to praise,

The worthiness of
The Source of Worth,
Who directs our steps,
Who ordains our …hurt…

To be obeyed
To chosen, be,
By those of us -blind,
Whom He caused to see.”

Though it’s gone on an eon,
Or thus it seems to drone,
A memory, a former me,
Leaned, -whispered, “…all alone.”

I turned and dazedly searched the face
Of this-
This “wise”, long-trusted foe,
Raised bone-skin arms, felt feeble heart,
and begged God for strength-

“Say no.”

Aye. Alone -by standards dead to me,
Hopeless? Yes -wasting away.
But inwardly? Being renewed by Him,
Who’s mercies are new day…

by day

Light!

How We Do, While Drowning… (or, The Crease Between the Water and the Shore.)

This prized, elusive!
Wherewithal,
A melancholly faith?
This doubt under a dull disguise,
Demarcating signs of wraith.

This tender, slender certainty,
This confidence, unplain.
This mere thread,
and yet, so capable
To hold, trust, not in vain,

Is all that’s had,
-And all that’s lost-
When traded for a piece,
Of heaven, fallen, floundering?
-A tear along The Crease.

Faith’s face to face the water’s edge,
Leaves hope, sometimes, to do.
Drowning’s not just nothing, you know?
But reflections tell
hard
truth.

Fortresses are prisons… or, That-there dam, created this-here flood!

Build the dam;
Dig dungeons deep,
For there are secrets…
I “must” keep.
Don’t even ask;
Don’t ever tell.

For the last twelve men, that

didn’t

go well…

So here I sit, in bitterness, my prison.
Here I lay, a captive to my soul,
and there it goes, desire, all like a pidgeon.
Yes, there it goes, my chance at living, whole.